One More Night With You

Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Plot belongs to me.

Chapter Two: 'How do I stop the pain?'

It was a descriptive, dark shadow standing over them, silhoutteing the frames of it's features. The man's face was horrid looking, he was half- dead, half-evil. His shining green eyes shone like serpent's. His body was barely frail and skinny. But he was very much in power.

"Hermione, go that way," Ron instructed. "Harry and I'll stop him. Get and free Ginny and Sirius. Run. Now."

He demanded this clearly, but Hermione acted as if she didn't hear him. She stood frozen to the spot, her mouth open in a small gape.

"Please, please let me help," she pleaded.

"Go! Now!"

"Ron!"

"Go!"

She ran away from them, rather reluctantly, trying hard not to look back.

"Crucio!" a shrill voice prompted, yelling. Hermione's body went rigid, and she fell to the ground in immense pain that was filling her stomach, numbing her arms and mind. The striking pain pricked her back into reality.

"No! Please!" Harry leaped forward, but it was far too late, the shadowy spirit was growing near, and he could feel fresh blood sprouting in between his fingertips....

A scream arose from the Gryffindor, as he plunged awake, dripping with sweat. Something was clinging to his nearly bare body, something very much alive. He looked beside him and breathed in sharply. The familiar, tangles of brown hair lay, spread across his stomach, tickling his bare skin.

"Hermione?" he whispered. She didn't make any motion nor movement; Harry had an awful feeling she was not breathing, but as he drew closer to her, he lightly felt her pulse, and it rapidly made a soft, lightheaded beating sound against his finger.

The touch jerked Hermione awake, and she opened her eyes, blinking.

"What time is it?" she croaked.

"I don't know."

She wiped her eyes with the brims of her fingers, and wrapped her covers more securely around her body.

"What happened? Why're you here?" Harry asked.

Hermione's face flushed. "I...couldn't sleep. And I didn't want to wake you and..."

He didn't say anything for several moments.

A pause. Silence.

"Do you want to go to class today?" he spoke at last, saying each word feeling rather distant, unreal.

"No."

"Hermione..."

"No," she said in a more firmer tone.

"We - you need to graduate."

"And you don't?"

"I don't care about graduation. I haven't worked hard in these years like you did."

"Well, what makes you think I care about it anymore?" she snapped.

"Because...because you're...you're Hermione."

She covered her face with her hands, taking within a deep inhale, and exhale. Her shoulders began to silently shake.

"Don't do this..." Harry started to say, but she ignored him, sobbing even harder.

"God, Harry, how do I stop this pain?" she hissed.

"I don't know." He pulled her closer to himself, to his bare chest, uneasily. Pain was surfacing through his waist, still. The blood had dried, but the scars would be imprinted for forever.

Her hair trickled at his arms, and her face tainted against his chest.

"Shh," he whispered, cradling her tightly. She looked up, his lips brushing against his chin, her eyes red.

He looked back down at her, and connected his lips to hers. It was an instinct, he had acted on impulse. Her soft lips felt tender against his cold, still ones. She numbed herself against him, one hand clutching his waist...and then...

She pulled away, and he looked at her, surprised.

"Please, oh God, you don't kiss like Ron..."

The words struck him, but he tried to show no emotion. Hermione looked down at his chest, biting her lip.

"I have to go," she whispered.

"Okay," he replied, avoiding her eyes stonily. She got up from the warm clutch of his body, trying to regain her self-control. She set apart the curtains, and looking around, headed quickly across the room and out the door.

He fell back into the soft cushion of his pillows, his breathing growing uneven and fast. He was furious with himself, and with the weight of the grief he had to go through, he also had to reduce the humiliation that was growing inside him.

Oh God, you don't kiss like Ron...

It was a signal. A sign. He would never be able to be Ronald Weasley, no matter how hard he tried. He could never let Hermione love him as much as he loved her, because her heart was for someone who was...

gone.

He closed his eyes, wishing to God it would be only darkness that filled his haven this time.

'Oh God, you don't kiss like Ron.'

Hermione recalled the words over and over again, trying to ignore the odd ringing in her ears. How could she have said that?

But it had been the truth. Harry certainly didn't kiss like Ron. He kissed even better. The truth shook her. How could she think such a thing? She loved Ron. He had been her life. She would've died for him, and she had wished for the past weeks it had been her to die and end the misery instead of him. She would've killed herself, if it wasn't for the tiny fact that Harry would be devastated if he lost both of his best friends.

The settled, loving and caring way Ron kissed, Hermione would never be able to compare to, or differ to, or even forget. But the soft, tender and urgent way Harry kissed was much different, with more of a rush, of need and lust...

Hermione was immediatley ashamed of herself. How could she ever think of such things when she was supposed to be feeling awful? Pulling her hair out, biting her nails, cutting herself, doing awful things for the loss of her love...

A soft sigh escaped her lips, followed by a dry sob.

'You stupid half-dead bastard! How dare you do this to me, he never did anything to you! I will get you this time. I will kill you, I will beat the living shit out of you,' she promised herself, her mind drifting swiftly to Voldemort.

She closed her eyes, Harry the last thing she thought about before she fell into deep sleep.